Suit & Tie
by JStone95
Summary: AU in which Rachel decides to change her style after a failed relationship. With Santana's help, she learns how to seduce women with looks and lies, impressing all but one - her best friend Quinn. Faberry, Pezberry friendship. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** Obviously me

**Genre: **Humor/Romance/Angst

**Summary:** AU in which Rachel decides to change her style after a failed relationship. With Santana's help, she learns how to seduce women with looks and lies, impressing all but one - her best friend Quinn.

**Warnings: **Not really a warning, but just saying that the narration of the plot is mostly carried through the direct speeches between the characters. This means, I didn't go into details as a 3rd POV narrator when describing locations, people, expressions and motions.

**Disclaimer: **The usual.

**Just one last comment:** I currently have no internet (just moved out) which means I've got a lot of time for writing, but none for updating. (using Wifi in an internet café right now). This story is almost finished and will definitely have only two chapters. But at least they're long as hell.

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"I just wanted her to be happy...why wasn't she happy?"

"Great, and here we go again. Q, are there any tissues left?"

"Here."

It truly broke their heart to see their friend like this. After being in a relationship for three years with the same woman she had met during a business trip in Phoenix, Rachel had found out yesterday that her partner had been cheating on her since their second year together. Her ex had at least the decency to come clean herself, but it didn't make much of a difference.

And the fight that followed wasn't pretty. Within a minute, both started screaming and throwing things at each other. Along with a few expensive vases and glasses, accusations and insults were flying around, but what really hit Rachel hard was one particular sentence that her ex-girlfriend had thrown at her head.

"_You're always so busy that you don't even see how boring you've become!"_

"I'm not boring," Rachel sobbed and she wiped at her eyes, "I'm not. Or am I?"

Santana and Quinn shared an exasperated look.

"Rachel, no," Quinn softly said and carefully placed an arm around her friend's shoulder, hugging her closer to herself. "You're not boring. She doesn't even know you."

"But it's true," she whined, covering her face with her hands. "I was always working...we had so little time together...and when we had, we had nothing to talk about. She's right, I've become boring!"

Santana groaned in frustration and leaned back against the couch. "If I have to listen to you sob one more minute, I'm going to kick you out of my apartment."

The sobbing immediately stopped, and Santana looked up in surprise, actually thinking that her words had been registered by the miserably crying brunette. But the silence didn't last long, and Rachel started crying again, harder and louder than before.

Quinn glared at Santana and reached around Rachel to punch her arm. They had their friend sandwiched between them on the couch, and while the blonde was trying her best to comfort her best friend, Santana had been reluctant about showing empathy.

"What?" Santana mouthed with no understanding. She had never liked Rachel's ex-what's her face-girlfriend. Her Mexican third eye had sensed something off about her on the day she had met her, but as usual, her opinion hadn't counted as much as Rachel's happiness. And when Quinn had hesitantly nodded, showing her approval to Rachel's choice of partner, their time-bomb of a relationship had been sealed.

And now she wasn't even allowed to say 'I told you so' or Quinn would kick her out of her own apartment. Only she was capable of doing that.

"She doesn't mean it," Quinn soothingly whispered in Rachel's ear, stroking her back.

"Sure do," Santana mumbled, lucky that the blonde hadn't heard that.

"She just hates your ex and is actually glad you're no longer with her," Quinn continued in her attempt of calming Rachel down. And she was more successful at it than her other best friend.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Don't say you didn't want to kick that bitch's ass every time you saw her, Q. You saw what she did to Rachel. Made her work like a dog."

And all of Quinn's attempts were in vain when Rachel started wailing again. "I wasted three years of my life! And you didn't stop me!"

"Thank you," Quinn spat at Santana with so much venom that Santana actually felt uneasy.

"Just telling the truth!" she defended herself. "Bitch had it in for Rachel's money. Always wanted this and that, wanted to visit that fancy restaurant and that exclusive club. Say what you want, but I'm glad as hell that it's over. Rachel, you deserve better."

Rachel was crying too hard to answer, but she nodded to show that she had heard and understood.

Nobody spoke for a while, the only sound that filled the room were Rachel's subsiding sobs. While Quinn was soothingly rubbing her back, Santana was impatiently waiting for her friend to stop crying.

"You're...right," Rachel suddenly spoke up, her voice still a bit shaky, "I – I deserve better! I'm going to show her that I'm not boring!"

"That's my dwarf!" Santana exclaimed and patted her on her back while Quinn looked relieved.

"I – I'm going to show her what she's missing out!" Rachel said in determination, her voice loosing the nasal tone that a clogged nose caused.

"That's the attitude," Santana cheered on, glad that Rachel had stopped crying because she was honestly running out of tissues. Quinn smiled at the girl – no, young woman – in her arms. She decided it was safe to pull her arms off her shoulders now.

"Yes," the brunette said with a clear voice, throwing her last tissue into the trash can which was filled to the brink with used tissues. "I'm going to make her eat her words. Boring? Oh, she will regret it."

"Yeah, she will," Santana warily said, wondering when she could stop doing this cheering up thing. It was tiring to be so supportive when she felt like punching the shorter girl in her face for having such a horrible taste in women.

Quinn stifled a giggle. Once Rachel started passionately rambling, there was no stop.

"Santana!" Rachel firmly said and turned to her friend sitting on her left side. "You will assist me in my quest to shed my boring image!"

"I will?" After receiving a hard glare from the blonde shaking her head behind Rachel, Santana added, "I will, of course."

"Good!" And Rachel stood up, her puffy red face scrunched up in determination. "Today will be the last day where people will see me as boring. Today will be the last day -"

With Rachel rambling before them, more to herself than to them, Santana tilted her head and whispered to Quinn, "Wake me up when it's over."

Quinn playfully shoved her and giggled when Rachel hadn't stopped talking yet.

"...so this is why I choose you, Santana Lopez, to be my mentor on how to seduce women!"

And Quinn stopped giggling.

* * *

"Talk her out of this," Quinn hissed for the umpteenth time, but Santana just shrugged.

"She knows what she's doing," was her calm reply, and she poured herself a generous amount of wine. "Besides, it'll do her good. You know, she really _was_ boring. It was always work, work and oh, before I forget, more work. Never mind her friends who never got to see her."

Santana swirled her wine glass and leaned against her kitchen counter. "I say, let her live a little. Life's too short and all that crap, and you heard her, she wasted three years."

"Maybe relationship-wise," Quinn angrily said, "but in those three years, she took over a small record company and turned it into a big label that owns twenty percent of the music production market – you think she would have achieved that without all the work she poured into it?"

Santana didn't reply, but observed her friend over the brink of her wine glass. After taking two small sips, she placed the glass down and crossed her arms. She looked defiant. "Do you think I don't know that? A career like that – she deserves it and more. But it's just painful to see her private life suck so much. And it doesn't have to be that way, she has women falling over her, why not let her enjoy her status?"

"Because that's the thing, they only want her for money like Gabrielle did, and how is that supposed to benefit Rachel?" Quinn argued hotly, and she could feel a headache approaching.

"Because," Santana began, and she picked up her glass of wine, "I will teach Rachel not to let them get that far. One night will hardly give them a chance to benefit from her wealth. But one night is enough for her to benefit from them." And she raised her glass. "Cheers."

* * *

"No," was Santana's first word upon seeing Rachel. The shorter brunette looked down on herself.

"What's wrong with it?"

And Santana grimaced at the clueless tone. "No," she repeated, pointing to the oversized blazer that made Rachel's shoulder look broad and bulky.

"No," she said again, and pulled at the large collar of Rachel's work blouse.

"No, no, no," Santana kept shaking her head as her eyes roamed over the badly dressed figure. "No to those pants, no to those shoes, just no to everything. Jesus, have you been living under a rock?"

Pouting, Rachel meekly said, "I never had the time to go shopping. That's what I ordered online and I guess they were a size too big."

"A size?" Santana incredulously said and pointed to all of Rachel. "At least ten sizes! God dammit, Rachel, your body is presentable, but you choose to disgrace it with...this!"

"Hey, that's Hugo Boss!"

"I don't care, it's too damn large and it doesn't fit you. Brand alone is worth shit, it has to suit you! And you don't wear a suit that doesn't suit you, its purpose is in its fucking name. Let's go, we're going to my tailor, I can't see this monstrosity for longer than necessary."

–

Santana was sitting on a luxurious couch and sipping on champagne as she watched her tailor bustle around Rachel, measuring every inch of her body.

"Francesco?"

"Yes, Ms Lopez?"

Santana put away her champagne and stood up to slowly walk around Rachel, carefully eying her while the shorter woman stood still with her arms stretched out, waiting for the tailor to measure the length of her arms.

"First of all, we need a classical, black suit. Then I was thinking about navy blue, slay grate, maroon brown and maybe beige, depends on which fabric you use. I want the colors to be deeply saturated and not dull. A bit glossy, but not obnoxiously so."

The old but agile man nodded and began to measure Rachel's waist circumference in fluid movements.

"Ah, yes," Santana remembered, "slim fit is a must. I want the suits to fit her like a second skin. That means, show off her waist and definitely show off her legs. I don't want to see any fabric flutter about."

"Yes, of course, Ms Lopez. Anything else?"

"Hm," and Santana eyed her friend carefully who just helplessly and silently endured everything since she had no say in this anyway. "Order a few ties that would match the suits. Silk and slim. Nothing too flashy, but still elegant."

"Santana," Rachel finally sighed, "Ties? When will I wear ties?"

"You will, starting now," Santana shrugged. "This is going to get you attention. Both good and bad, but still more than you would get without. And when people ask you why, you say you're merely adjusting to the dress code of what men are expected to wear in your position. And you are a fucking CEO, so don't be ashamed to adapt to a man's world."

She walked back to the couch and picked up her glass of champagne, sipping on it. When Rachel looked doubtful, she added, "I'm not telling you to become manly. That's not the point. But if you can make an outfit work for you, then fucking wear it. Make your mark and show them that nothing is entitled to a gender, including suits and ties. If you look damn good in it, then own that shit."

And though Rachel didn't reply, Santana knew that she had her convinced now.

"Plus, ties make you fifty percent hotter. It's a fact. Right, Francesco?"

And the old tailor nodded in silent agreement.

"Case closed. Next stop, shoes."

–

"Here, this is a size bigger than before."

"Thank you, Trisha," Santana said in such a friendly tone that it took Rachel off guard, "You're a sweetheart. We'll let you know if we need anything else."

The young sales girl blushed and hurried out of sight.

"How did you get so good at this?" Rachel asked while she put on the shoes that the girl had brought. She wiggled her toes in her shoes. It fit.

"Talent?" Santana offered with a shrug. "And training. And the ability to lie. Which you lack. Yet."

"Yet," Rachel repeated to herself and stood up to walk in her new shoes.

"It's important you can walk in these. Those heels should boost your height and your confidence, but not make your steps look shaky. If you can strut in these, we're taking them."

And after strutting the aisle up and down twice, Rachel could feel what Santana meant. Her posture was straighter, more elegant and dignified. She exuded self-confidence and sex-appeal. Her walk was like the walk of a woman on a mission. A woman who knew exactly what she wanted and where she was heading.

"I love them."

"Great," Santana clapped. "I'll let Trisha bag these as well. One more pair and we're good."

Rachel sighed in relief and looked over to the pile of shoes they were going to buy. Nine pairs of elegant, made in Italy leather shoes in various shades of brown and black. Some with small heels and some without, but all of them would match the ordered suits.

"Last stop, hair and make-up."

–

"Oh honey, these bangs need to go."

Rachel would never lightly use the words flamboyant and gay. But her male hairdresser was exactly that, flamboyant and gay. Almost a bad cliche. But he was one of the best in New York and a friend of Santana's, so who was Rachel to doubt his judgment.

"They hide so much of her precious face, it's a sin," he said and dramatically swiped at her hair, brushing her bangs away. "See? Much, much better. Your eyes, darling, are absolutely precious and you shouldn't be afraid of showing them. Don't hide behind your hair!"

"I know, right," Santana laughed at Rachel's overwhelmed look. "Free her forehead, Marcus."

"Oh, I will," he firmly said and spun Rachel in her rotatable chair, observing her hair from all sides. "Maybe some highlights?"

Alarmed, Rachel shot Santana a pleading look, who had mercy on her friend. "Depends," she interjected for her, "What color do you have in mind?"

"Nothing too extreme," Marcus easily said, and Rachel had a hard time believing him that he didn't like it extreme. "A lighter shade than her original hair to add more layers. You don't want a boring brown, do you?"

And Santana knew the moment the word 'boring' left his purple lips, that Rachel would've agreed to whatever he suggested to not be associated with that word anymore.

"Work your magic," Rachel determinedly said, and Marcus grinned in delight.

"Believe me, once I'm done, you _will_ look like magic."

* * *

"Q, this is my biggest masterpiece to date," Santana proudly said, and for this occasion, she had brought a bottle of fine champagne. "Want a glass?"

Quinn shook her head, nervously chewing on her lips instead. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing yet," Santana distractedly said, opening every cupboard in Rachel's large luxury kitchen to find glasses for the champagne. "Aha!" she triumphantly muttered once she found them, and she took three glasses.

"I'm serious, Santana," Quinn insisted on returning back to the topic at hand. They were currently waiting for Rachel to put on an example of her new outfits since her suits had been finished yesterday. Only Santana had an idea of how she would look like, and when the blonde found out that they had been to a hairdresser and make-up specialist, too, she feared that she might encounter a Rachel Berry she wouldn't recognize.

"And I'm fucking serious, too," Santana said with an eye roll. "What you see is still Berry. Just in better clothes. I haven't taught her anything yet, she's still that stuffy girl from high school."

"She isn't stuffy," Quinn immediately defended her best friend. "She just never had the opportunity to relax."

"And that's why she chose me to teach her the finer things of life," Santana said. "Because you don't know how to relax either. So please sit down and enjoy the show."

Quinn wanted to protest that she did know how to relax, but was cut off when the sound of flat heels neared them.

And all she could do was stare at Rachel strutting confidently into the living room, clad in a slim fitting black suit, with one hand leisurely put in the pocket of her pants and the other adjusting her black, thin tie. Her glossy hair framed her face and fell around her shoulder in gentle waves, and where neat bangs used to shadow her forehead were now few strands of light brown casually falling to her eyes, giving her a mischievous look.

The make-up was decent and highlighted her best features. Her expressive eyes were accentuated with eyeliner and eyeshadow, giving her the smokey eyes look. And faint rouge highlighted her cheekbones.

Santana whistled, impressed with her work. "Like I said, a masterpiece. You owe me, Berry."

Rachel contently smiled, looking down on herself. "I certainly don't regret asking you for help." She looked up again. "What do you think, Quinn?"

The blonde wasn't able to directly give a verbal answer, just motioning with her hands to Rachel's outfit and letting out indecipherable sounds.

"She thinks it's hot," Santana translated it for her and received a light slap on the shoulder for that.

"Good," Quinn finally said in a strangled voice. "You look good. Very good."

Rachel beamed and ran a hand through her new hairstyle that made her seem more open, more vibrant and lively. "Santana, you brought champagne?"

"You bet I did."

Quinn watched numbly how Santana carefully opened the bottle of champagne in a bucket, and only accepted a glass of it when Rachel offered it to her with a radiating smile.

"Let's make a toast," Santana cheerfully said, raising her glass and Rachel followed. Quinn only copied their moves.

"To the new me?" Rachel questioned, and for once, Santana didn't laugh at her suggestion. She nodded instead.

"To the new Rachel Berry," she announced and grinned at Rachel, who smiled back.

"To the new Rachel Berry," Quinn numbly repeated, and they clinked their glasses.

–

Now that they were occupying a table in a classy lesbian bar, things had gotten real.

"Rachel, you don't have to do this," Quinn tried to reason with her best friend, talking her out of learning something that she didn't need to learn. "You're above that, don't lower yourself to Santana's standard."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Fabray! Shut the fuck up, you're killing my buzz," Santana groaned and pointed to Quinn's untouched cocktail. "Drink up, your sober ass is one second away from getting beat up."

Rachel reached over the table and took Quinn's hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. She smiled. "I don't do things that I don't want to. And no one's forcing me, Quinn."

"Yeah, but," Quinn trailed off, knowing that she had lost. She couldn't argue without revealing that her reasons were completely selfish and had less to do with Rachel's feelings but hers.

"Berry, the trick is to sell yourself as someone interesting, someone worth sleeping with," Santana explained and paused to sip on her drink. "Try it. For example, tell us about your work."

"Well," Rachel began insecure, "my work mostly consists of organizing, directing and calculating -"

"Snore," Santana interrupted with a demonstrative yawn, and she turned to Quinn to say with an eye roll, "I told you. Stuffy as fuck." Facing Rachel again, she explained with a sigh, "You could be an internationally wanted criminal but still make your work sound boring."

And her words had the desired effect, causing Rachel to flinch and stick out her bottom lip in a pout. "You tell me what my work is then."

Santana shook her head and sighed. "You own a fucking music label where dozens of internationally successful singers and bands are signed, and you don't mention that?"

"But you asked what my work was -"

"And with that, I mean only the interesting parts of your work life. Not your work per se, but the things you get to experience, the people you get to meet. You've got to show off, Berry, I know you like to do that. Tell them that the number one currently on Billboard is signed at your label, like two other artists in the Top Ten right now. That's what people want to hear."

While Rachel hung on to Santana's every word, Quinn frustratedly downed her drink and signaled the waitress for another one.

"Berry, now try again. You try to impress me and I try to imitate normal reactions."

"Okay," Rachel said in concentration, absently stroking her black tie. And within one second, her posture changed and she leaned back in her chair, oozing casualness and confidence. Her tone wasn't arrogant or snotty as she talked. "I love my work because I get to meet wonderful artists like Example A, B and C."

"Wow," Santana faked a gasp at which Quinn rolled her eyes, "what exactly is your job?"

"Well, have you heard of Star Records?"

"Yes, of course. You work there?"

"Actually, I'm the CEO. I took over the company three years ago. And I regularly have to personally sign new artists or meet up with old ones. I usually drop by during the production and I also attend their album release parties, so that's why I'm old friends with Example A, B and C."

Quinn face-palmed. This was getting ridiculous.

Santana smirked. "And that's how you should do it. Sounds way better than all the damn paper work, right?"

"But that's actually 80 percent of my work, the exciting part doesn't happen as often as you would think," Rachel muttered and reached after her glass of wine.

"Yeah, no," Santana shook her head. "Don't bring it up."

"Why am I still here," Quinn mumbled to herself and released a long sigh.

Having heard the sigh, Rachel looked up at her friend and worriedly asked, "Quinn, are you not feeling well?"

"Me?" Quinn noticed her slouched position and sat up straight again. "No, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

"I can take you home if you want, this is probably not how you imagined our girls' night out," Rachel said with an apologetic smile and Quinn's expression lit up, fully intending to take her upon her offer, but Santana cut in with a forceful voice, "Nope, not happening. Berry needs to get her training on. And Q said she's okay, why would she lie?"

Quinn's expression fell. "Yeah, I'm really okay. But thank you, Rachel." _And damn you, Santana._

"Look, Berry, fine blonde at six o'clock," Santana quietly said with a nod in the right direction. Both Rachel and Quinn subtly turned their heads to look at the woman Santana had pointed out.

"No," both Rachel and Quinn said, intimidated and irritated, respectively.

"What's the problem? She's hot," Santana furrowed her brows.

"She's too pretty," Rachel said, shooting insecure looks at said woman. "I'll be too nervous to talk."

"You're talking with us just fine."

"You are my friends! That is entirely different."

"Now I am insulted," Santana muttered. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean you shouldn't be nervous about talking to hot stuff like us, right Q?"

But Quinn just stiffly nodded.

"Please choose someone else."

"That's bullshit," Santana groaned. "You wouldn't want someone less hot anyway. So get the fuck over yourself and talk to her. I'm going to be your wingwoman, your second chance if you think it's not going to work out."

"But -"

"Go or I'm never going to help you again."

When her pleading eyes had no effect on Santana, Rachel deeply sighed and hesitantly stood up, smoothing over her suit. "In an out," she inhaled and exhaled dramatically. "I can do this. In and out."

"If you're lucky, you'll do more of that later tonight," Santana lewdly said with a smirk, getting a hit on her arm by Quinn whose expression got darker and darker with every second.

"Geez, what's wrong with you today?" Santana hissed at her friend, but then got distracted when Rachel walked off without wasting anymore time, going in for the kill.

Both Quinn and Santana watched Rachel approaching the blonde woman. Or that was what they thought. Because when the brunette walked up to the bar and sat down on a free stool next to the target, she ordered a drink without acknowledging the woman besides her.

"What the fuck is she doing?" Santana hissed, leaning forward to see if she was missing some interaction. "Great, she got cold feet. Do you see her making a move?"

Quinn didn't dare to feel relieved yet. Maybe Rachel was waiting for a cue.

"She needs a push," Santana muttered to herself, intending to stand up and get things rolling, but Quinn put a hand on her arm, keeping her down in her seat.

The blonde woman at the bar had turned to face Rachel, curiously eying her. And when she seemed to like what she saw, she reached out and tipped on her shoulder. Rachel looked up in surprise.

"What?" Santana mumbled with a frown. "Either she got lucky or that was her plan all along."

Whatever the two women by the bar were discussing, both seemed to get along well and had found a topic both were passionate about. The blonde woman was talking with gestures, pointing to Rachel and Rachel nodded in interest, then replying with the same enthusiasm, wildly motioning with her hands, sometimes picking at her suit.

"Damn," Santana said in pride, feeling pleased about the outcome. She wanted to nudge Quinn with her elbow and joke about Rachel, but stopped short when she saw the murderous look she was getting.

"What?"

"Nothing," Quinn curtly replied, clearly upset. She took her purse, fished some money out of it and tossed it onto the table. "I've got work tomorrow."

"So do I, so what? Since when do you have a curfew?"

Ignoring her friend's protest, Quinn stood up and smoothed over her skirt. Without going to Rachel to say goodbye or even give her a glance, she briskly left the bar.

Santana stared after her until she was out through the door. "The hell is wrong with her?"

"Where's Quinn?" and Santana jumped in her seat, whipping her head around to see Rachel sit down opposite of her. After glancing at the shorter brunette in disbelief, she looked at the bar counter to find it empty. "Where is she? What are you doing here? I thought things were going great!"

And Rachel sheepishly smiled. "She wasn't my type."

Santana just blinked. "Fucking liar."

"Okay," Rachel leaned backwards and threw up her hands. "She would have been my type. But I just...it didn't feel right. I didn't want to approach her romantically."

And Santana felt like bashing her head in. Closing her eyes to calm herself down, she put her hands together and placed them beneath her chin. "I don't know why I'm even putting up with your shit," she sighed, then cleared her throat. "Really, Berry? It didn't _feel _right? You're looking for a good fuck and not a good girlfriend."

"But it still felt wrong," Rachel furrowed her brows. "I know it's supposed to be just sex, but I need to feel comfortable about it. And I don't know, when I got nearer and saw her face, I suddenly didn't want to anymore."

Santana exhaled a long breath, and reached for Quinn's abandoned drink that she hadn't gotten to finish. After downing it in one take and swallowing it with a grimace, she sighed again. "I hate to say this, but maybe...maybe you're still not over Gabrielle?"

And Rachel flinched at the mention of the name that had caused her an early midlife crisis. "No," she firmly denied, genuinely thinking that this was not the reason she couldn't bring herself to talk to other women.

"Then I don't know anymore," Santana shrugged her shoulders. "Berry, that woman was a nine. A Lopez certified nine, she's the kind of woman you cheat on your partner for."

"I know," Rachel defensively said. "And I did find her very attractive, but I just couldn't see myself sleeping with her. It didn't appeal to me."

And Santana felt like letting out an exasperated scream.

"And you're sure you're not still in love with your ex?" she calmly asked instead.

Rachel nodded. "I haven't thought of her when I walked up to that woman."

Santana unblinkingly stared at her for a minute longer before she reached for her purse, took out some cash and tossed it onto the table. "Talk to me when you figured out what's holding you back. I don't have time for this shit."

And she strutted out of the bar before Rachel could stop her or ask what was going on with everyone leaving.

Confused and hurt, Rachel got up to leave as well since there was no reason for her to stay any longer alone. She was so deep in her thoughts that she had unintentionally ignored a seductive looking blonde in a tight dress who had been standing in her way. Rachel had just apologized for nearly running into her, then stepped around her and left.

She really thought she was ready to move on. But if it wasn't her ex, then what was holding her back?

* * *

Now that Rachel had no girlfriend expecting her to show up anytime soon, she didn't have to feel guilty about working overtime anymore. She was in no hurry to finish up today's paper work, even stopping for a coffee break or two. If someone asked her why she would willingly stay longer than necessary at her office, then she would simply say that she loved her job. And it wasn't a lie, but tonight, she just didn't want to go back to an empty apartment.

She needed the work as a distraction. This and her friends' support kept her from breaking down. But in all honesty, she had expected a far worse reaction to Gabrielle's confession. That she could move on so quickly after two hours of crying surprised her, making her think that maybe something was wrong with her emotionally.

But she guessed she already had seen that coming and had been subconsciously preparing herself for it, slowly detaching herself from her girlfriend as their time together got shorter and the words they shared got fewer. The signs had been there and she had acknowledged them without actively processing them.

The intercom on her work desk beeped. Rachel reached over her large table to press a button on the intercom, "Yes?"

"It's seven now and I haven't seen you leave that office since five, so I'm assuming that you haven't had dinner yet. And since I would lose my job if you died, I brought pizza."

Rachel smiled to herself and pressed the talk button again. "You wouldn't lose your job, someone's just going to replace me. And I'm coming in five."

"I would still lose it because only you would put up with my shit. And no, you're coming now or the pizza is getting cold."

Chuckling, Rachel did as she was told and put down her pen. The paperwork could wait, but pizza couldn't. She stood up and stretched, humming in contentment when her body tingled. Only when her stomach growled did she realize how hungry she actually was, so she wasted no time in leaving her office.

"I hope there are no ham bits on my half or I'll have to fire you," Rachel jokingly said once she plopped down on a seat opposite of her secretary.

"Please," her blonde haired secretary rolled her eyes, "you would be nothing without me. Now eat up."

"That's sadly true, Kitty," Rachel sighed and grabbed a slice of her half that was covered with melted cheese.

"So what's the deal with all the dressing up?" Kitty pointed to her boss' suit while chewing on her pizza. "You're going to pop the question tonight?"

Rachel swallowed down her bite with great difficulty before she coughed. "No," she pressed out, thumping her chest, "we actually...broke up."

"Oh," the blonde secretary said, lowering her pizza. "Are you okay?"

"Actually," Rachel cleared her throat, "yes. I'm more okay with this than I thought."

"Oh great, now I don't have to pretend to feel sorry about it," Kitty said with a shrug and happily continued to munch on her slice of pizza.

"You didn't like her either?" Rachel asked in disbelief, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. She stared at her pizza with no appetite.

"This won't affect my bonus this year if I'll tell you the truth, right?" Kitty suspiciously said, and Rachel shook her head. "Okay, then. I don't like her because she made you feel guilty about loving your work. And I'm not saying this because my bonus depends on your company's success which depends on your work – I'm saying this because you shouldn't ever make anybody feel bad about their passion."

And Rachel sighed, looking down on her lap. "Thank you for being honest."

"I'm always honest, that's why you're the only idiot who wanted to hire me after I got dozens of declines," Kitty rolled her eye again, reaching for another slice of pizza. "Anyway, I guess I would've understood if I were in her position, you know. Must be damn frustrating if the outrageously hot secretary sees your girlfriend more often than you. I understand why she would feel insecure by all this," and she confidently flicked her hair behind her shoulder.

Rachel stifled a laugh. "Maybe I should really fire you because you wrecked my relationship."

"You don't sound very sorry about it," Kitty shrugged. "So neither will I."

And Rachel guiltily bit her lip. "I do take this a bit too well, don't you think?"

Her secretary tilted her head and pretended to think, but then she swiftly shook her head and simply said, "Nope," before going back to focus her attention on her pizza. "And I don't see you eating."

"Just resting," Rachel muttered, still too deep in thought about her own question. "You don't think it's strange for me to move on so fast?"

"Oh sweet Jesus," Kitty sighed and placed her slice of pizza down, turning her whole attention on Rachel. "Do you _want _to feel heartbroken?"

Rachel slowly shook her head.

"Then be happy that your heart has taken some precautions. You already knew that this wasn't going to last, so you weren't so surprised by it. From what I've seen, Gabrielle is a decent woman, but even the classiest ladies get a little bit upset if they don't get the attention they think they deserve."

Opening and closing her mouth, Rachel was unsure of how to answer to that. And Kitty hadn't been expecting an answer as she reached for her piece of pizza again, finishing it off in two bites.

"You know," she said with a hand covering her full mouth, "even though I didn't like how she wanted you to trade your work for her, I somehow think that this was your own fault in the first place."

"My fault?" Rachel repeated in disbelief. "How is that my fault? My job is very demanding, she was lucky that I wasn't constantly on the road."

Unimpressed, Kitty wiped at her mouth with a clean napkin. "You only say that to feel less guilty about it. If you really wanted it to work, you would've tried every possibility until you achieved your wanted result. That's why our company is where it is now. But I guess she wasn't the one, or you would've long ago found a way to keep her."

–

After a long and tiring day, Rachel's thoughts were all about taking a hot bath, drinking some wine and listening to Broadway classics. It wasn't her work that exhausted her in the end, she was used to a twelve hour schedule after all, but the conversation with her secretary during dinner had suddenly made her feel winded.

She hadn't been able to focus anymore after all the true and hard hitting things Kitty had said. After finishing up the pizza, she only stayed for half an hour until she called it a day, surprising her blonde assistant. But she didn't question it because that meant she had work off early as well. Though it was nowhere stated in her contract that she was supposed to stay as long as Rachel worked, she just did and regularly peeked in her office and brought her dinner as Rachel tended to forget basic needs when she was deep in work.

Though she always joked that she was doing overtime because it paid even better than her regular hours, Rachel knew that she was just looking after her. Behind all the hard shell was a soft core, and Rachel was glad to have hired the right person. Of course, she had had her doubts when she had first met the blunt woman that Santana had recommended, but her resume was impeccable. And if Santana deemed someone as good enough, then that someone was good enough.

So after borrowing Kitty's perfume to cover the smell of pizza and getting a strong, comforting hug that surprised but pleased her, Rachel was on her way home. She had bought an apartment near her label in midtown Manhattan, so the walk between the two places she spent most of her time at took twenty minutes. If she waited to hail a cab, then she would be already half at home. And driving a car was out of question with the traffic situation in New York City. Riding a bicycle was not an option because she was afraid of reckless drivers overseeing her and crashing into her.

For Rachel, the walk home was like a transition between two completely different parts of her day. From a demanding work day to a relaxing and quiet night at home.

So when Rachel turned her keys and opened the door, she hadn't expected Quinn Fabray to sit in her living room and apparently wait for her to come home.

"Q – Quinn?" Rachel quickly closed the door behind her. "Is there an emergency? Did something happen? Are you okay?"

Both her best friends had gotten spare keys for her apartment and they had been instructed only to use it in case of emergencies or personal danger.

But Quinn didn't seem very upset. She calmly stood up from Rachel's designer couch and said, "This is an intervention."

"Intervention?" Rachel repeated in disbelief and looked around if there was anybody else. But only Quinn stood before her. "Intervention for what?"

"Well, for two things actually," Quinn explained with a serious expression. "First of all, you really need a more human working schedule. And second, whatever that Santana taught you is okay, it's not."

"And that's what you scared me for?"

Rachel sighed in both relief and exasperation. Relieved that Quinn was okay, and exasperated that Quinn thought she was not.

"I'll take off these, get some wine and then we can talk, okay?" Rachel smiled and moved to take off her suit, but Quinn's left hand shot up and held her wrist. Her other hand hovered above Rachel's shoulder before she picked up something. A single blonde hair.

"That's not my hair," Quinn furrowed her eyebrows.

"Of course not, you haven't hugged me yet," Rachel chuckled and moved in to do so, but Quinn only stiffened in their embrace.

"That's not your perfume," she icily said and moved away from Rachel. She raised an eyebrow at her. "Have you been seeing someone?"

Completely taken aback by the near accusing tone in her friend's voice, Rachel quickly shook her head and spluttered, "What? No! Quinn, you know I don't have time for this. Now if you excuse me, I want to change into something more comfortable."

"You know what?" Quinn bitterly said, taking a step back. "Don't bother. If you have such a good time screwing around in your suit, then don't let me stop you."

And before Rachel could comprehend the meaning of her words, the blonde had rushed out of her apartment, her clicking heels sounding like gunshots to Rachel's ears. Gunshots straight to her heart.

* * *

"She'll come around."

"No, she won't. She resents me."

"Of course she doesn't, she's just overreacting. And frankly, it's none of her business."

Rachel stared at the bottom of her drink with unfocused eyes. "She's my best friend. She wants to protect me."

"And I'm not your best friend with the intention of protecting you?"

Santana sounded actually offended, and Rachel was quick to mend that. "I didn't say that. You know I love you just as much."

"Urgh, don't get sappy." But Santana was sipping her drink with a content grin again. "So, you feeling it tonight?"

Rachel looked up from her drink and turned around to give the people in the bar a once-over. Then she faced Santana again, shaking her head.

And her friend quietly groaned, massaging her forehead. "Great. You're like a womanizer without the women."

"It's enough for my ego to know they're attracted to me. I don't need the physical proof," Rachel remarked with a shrug. She received a blank look for it.

"So you're not going to change your style back?"

"I don't think so. I quite like the fashion advises you and Marcus gave me, it really boosts my appearance. My employees literally jump out of my way or run to open doors for me. It's very gratifying."

"But you're not going to hook up with anyone?"

"I can't tell in the future. But I really don't feel like it right now."

Santana sighed and slowly shook her head. "There goes my masterpiece. Only nice to look at but with no real concept. Hey, if you don't mind, I'm heading home early tonight. There's this lesbian prison show that I want to catch up on."

"Sure. I think I'll leave now as well," Rachel mumbled and blindly reached behind her to grab her suit hanging over chair.

"You're searching for this?" And Rachel found her suit being presented to her face, but Santana stood next to her, preoccupied with pulling on her own coat. She slowly looked up to find herself staring at a face that she had never learned to fully love.

"Gabrielle," came softly over her lips, with no undertone of resentment or regret. But neither of love or longing.

"You?!" Santana exclaimed and immediately placed herself defensively between Rachel and her ex. "What are you doing here?"

Unimpressed, Gabrielle countered her with a calm voice, "To clear up things for both of us. Our relationship deserves a better ending."

"You should have thought of that before you cheated on her!" Santana angrily hissed, looking like she was ready to punch the other woman. But Rachel placed a hand on her shoulder from behind and firmly said, "Thank you, Santana, but I think I can handle this alone."

Santana glared at Gabrielle for a few seconds longer before she looked behind at Rachel, nodding. "Just remember, you've got chicks lining up for you. Don't think you don't deserve better."

With that, Santana shot one last toxic glare at Gabrielle and left, roughly bumping her shoulder on her way past her.

"She sure is protective," Gabrielle said with a wince, rubbing her shoulder.

Rachel just stared at her. That was the woman she had been together with for the last three years after all. Though she thought she had quickly moved on, things looked different when she was confronted with the real image of her ex-girlfriend. And she looked as stunning as ever with her sleek, black hair that fell past her shoulders and her winning smile. Dark eyes, high cheekbones and a defined jaw made her face seem carefully sculptured.

"You wanted to clear up things?" Rachel said after clearing her throat. And she hated herself for being as nervous as she had been when she had first met her.

"Yes," Gabrielle nodded and gestured to the seats next to them. "Let's sit down, I'm afraid I'll have a lot to explain."

And Rachel was glad to not stand on her wobbly feet anymore.

"You look good," her ex remarked genuinely once she settled in her seat. "Did you have a make-over?"

"Sort of," Rachel mumbled, nervously looking around for a waitress to order a drink or ten.

"Rachel, you can look at me," Gabrielle softly said and against Rachel's will, her head automatically turned to her. "I'm not trying to pick up where we left. I'm not trying to get us back together. It obviously won't work if we don't love each other."

And Rachel flinched at that, grimacing at the truth that was laid out in front of her. It was harsh hearing that, but it was needed. And since Rachel was reluctant of talking, Gabrielle continued.

"I shouldn't have said the things I said. You should know that I didn't mean them, I was just angry and wanted you to feel the same." And she sounded genuinely sorry, even a bit ashamed that she had resorted to that kind of behavior.

And it made breathing easier for Rachel. She weakly smiled, encouraging her ex to go on.

"I'm sorry if my words caused you to think that you needed some make-over -"

Rachel let out a small sound protest. "It was long over due, anyway. I needed a new way to gain respect from my employees."

"Of course," Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "It's always about your work somehow."

"If you don't want to start a fight, then please don't talk about my work," Rachel warned, and she meant it. She was still sensitive about it.

"But I cannot ignore the subject if it's one of the reasons we didn't work," Gabrielle heatedly replied, her once relaxed posture turning rigid.

"So everything's my fault now?" Rachel reflected, not someone to readily take blame. "Me working overtime gave you the chance to easily sleep with someone else without ever getting caught!"

"I never said I slept with someone!" Gabrielle angrily said, forcing herself to keep her voice at the current volume.

"But you confessed to cheating -"

"Yes, I know," the raven-haired woman sighed. "I've been on a few dates. But with no consequences because I couldn't do that to you, it was bad enough that I even let myself go on these dates."

Rachel didn't know if that new information made her feel better or worse. She would be lying if she said she wasn't relieved that Gabrielle hadn't slept with anyone else during their time together, but that she had been emotionally ready to move on hurt just as much.

"Cheating is cheating, I didn't try to sugarcoat it because I knew it wouldn't hurt you any less or make a difference," Gabrielle meekly said, deeply sighing. "I'm sorry I didn't break it off sooner. But you weren't eager to make the first move either."

Biting on the insides of her cheeks, Rachel refrained herself from giving her ex a rushed, defensive reply. She knew she would only sound accusing and irrational. Instead, she weakly asked, "Was it that bad? With me, I mean? Did you only stay for the money?"

And she seemed to have said the wrong thing, because Gabrielle looked up with fury in her dark eyes and she leaned forward to hiss, "Is that what your friends told you? Is that what you think of me now?"

Rachel just helplessly looked back. She wanted nothing but the truth.

"I stayed for the little moments that reminded me why I fell in love with you," Gabrielle quietly said, her expression falling in sadness. "When you would take some time off and go out to dinner with me. And the only way I could get you out of your office was when I mentioned some new, exclusive place that you haven't been to before. We would share our food like it was our very first date and talk until midnight, then do more things after midnight."

Rachel looked down on her wringing hands. "I loved those moments, too."

And Gabrielle bitterly laughed. "Really? I couldn't tell. Because the next day, it was like our dates never happened because you would be at work again and you wouldn't leave until I would find some new place we could go."

When Rachel didn't react, Gabrielle deeply sighed. "Rachel, I've been running out of locations and patience. Waiting for you to come around became difficult. Especially when I realized that it had less to do with you, but with me."

"No," Rachel finally spoke up, quiet and faint, "you're right. It was me, I shouldn't have made you feel like you were my second priority behind work."

"Actually," Gabrielle cleared her throat, "I was your third priority."

Rachel blankly looked at her.

"You put your work before me. But you didn't put your work first," she elaborated with a sad smile. "Your first priority has always been Quinn."

* * *

Santana was on her second set of sit-ups, slowly counting up to twenty before she paused for one minute, then started the next set of twenty sit-ups. She intended to do at least five sets, making a total of one hundred sit-ups. Staying this fit didn't come with laziness.

She was so focused on her work-out that she didn't hear footsteps nearing her fitness room.

"Santana."

"Fuck!" Santana exclaimed, craning her neck to see with wide eyes who had dared to break into her apartment. But it was only her friend Quinn. "Fuck, Quinn. Don't do that shit. At least ring a bell before you sneak up on me."

"I came to talk. It's kind of important," Quinn calmly said, sitting down on a medicine ball.

"Only kind of?" Santana panted, doing one more sit-up for her last set.

"I received a job offer today," Quinn tonelessly said, and Santana stopped moving, lying with her back on a mat. She turned to lie on her side and propped up her head with her elbow so she could face her friend while talking.

"You don't sound so happy about it," she suspiciously said and grabbed a towel lying nearby to wipe her forehead.

Quinn just shrugged, her hazel eyes guarded. "It doesn't matter how I sound about it. I'm going to take it. I have to if I ever want to get far with my career."

"What? Wait a minute," Santana shook her head and sat up straight. "Look, you're obviously not that thrilled about it, so why bother? It's just going to make you all moody and shit, even more than you already are. And besides, what kind of job is that?"

When Quinn refused to meet her eyes and lightly scratched at the medicine ball beneath her, Santana impatiently groaned, "Oh my god, just fucking spill already. I don't have all day."

"Well," Quinn hesitantly began, _"E-Motion _is a new independent magazine targeted at single, upper class readers with time and money. It's all about fashion, music, theater, traveling and so on."

"Geez, there are thousands of magazines like that," Santana said, shaking her head. "It's never going to make it."

"But it's already locally successful. It comes out every two weeks and sells over twenty-thousand copies," Quinn explained, sounding rather neutral than proud. "If I say yes, I get to write my own articles. I can write what I'm passionate about. And I've got a good chance of becoming the editor after a year."

Santana couldn't deny that this was right up Quinn's alley. "So you said it's locally successful?" she asked, furrowing her brows. "Then why haven't I heard of that magazine yet?"

This was where Quinn's voice got so quiet, Santana could barely understand her words. And the parts she did understand were not what she wanted to hear.

"No way I'm letting you to fucking move to L.A!"

–

Arguing with Quinn Fabray was just as straining as working out, Santana realized, feeling her heart burning.

"Q, be real with me," she tiredly said, "you're leaving your fine job at a renowned New York newspaper just to trade it for some hipster magazine?"

"Haven't you been listening to one word that I said?" Quinn's voice was worn out and lacked the anger that used to dominate for the last half an hour. "I don't have to be politically correct anymore. I write about the things that interest me, sharing my view and knowledge with others."

"I know," Santana rubbed her eyes. "I just don't see why you gotta go to L.A for that. There are tons of magazines like that here in New York."

"But there are no spots open for me."

"How do you know if you haven't send applications? You can't wait for every magazine to google prize winning articles and find your name beneath it."

Nobody spoke for a minute until Santana asked with a sigh, "How did Rachel react? I'm actually surprised that she hasn't talked you out of this already."

And when Quinn didn't reply, the other woman just knew.

"Fuck," she groaned and closed her eyes. "You didn't tell her. You fucking coward didn't tell her."

"I'm not a coward," Quinn defended herself, "I just don't want to make it complicated. I sometimes have to think of myself, too, and this is what I want. This is the job I've been dreaming of. I can't stay just because I feel obligated to keep my friends company who ignore me anyway."

Santana fiercely shook her head, pointing an accusing finger to her friend. "Don't make it sound like we have been the ones to keep you from your dreams. You know that's not true and you know that we supported you in every choice you made because we saw how happy that made you. But this time, I can just feel that something's off. There's something you're not telling me."

"And why do I have to?" Quinn said in irritation. "I don't have to share everything, I can still think for myself. And I'm set on L.A, I'm doing this for me. New York isn't the right place for me to be anymore."

"I just don't get it! What changed?" Santana asked in exasperation, wildly gesturing with her hands. "You're still you, and I'm still me, and Rachel's still...Rachel."

And when Quinn avoided Santana's searching gaze, the brunette's eyes widened with shock and realization.

"Oh no," she breathed, taking a step back. She couldn't believe it. She had always known that the blonde had a soft spot for Rachel, even had an ugly crush on her during high school, but she thought that was just a friend crush. She thought it was nothing serious and when college turned out to be a pretty wild phase for all of them, she had already forgotten about this altogether.

They both had always functioned so well as best friends, and nothing changed when Rachel got into a relationship with Gabrielle while Quinn dated other men and women. No, nothing seemed to have changed, except everything was different now.

"Oh god," Santana could feel her own heart breaking by watching the misery that was Quinn. "After all this time?"

And when she looked into teary eyes, she knew.

"Always."

* * *

She couldn't stop thinking about Gabrielle's words, and one week had already passed since then. They haunted her and followed her everywhere she went, they would echo in her mind and ring in her ears. She was starting to feel paranoid, it was affecting her attention and she couldn't concentrate on anything during her job anymore. Even her employees were starting to give her worried looks whenever she spaced out during a meeting. But since she was their boss, they didn't dare to question her personal life. And she liked it better that way.

She glanced at the golden clock hanging in her office. Ten am.

And she knew that it was time. To finally do the things she hadn't been willing to do for Gabrielle.

And it mad her feel bad. Because her ex had been right. What she hadn't thought of doing for her, she immediately thought of doing for Quinn. When Gabrielle complained about not seeing enough of her, she would come up with excuses and try to send her gifts to placate her. But when Quinn complained about not seeing her, she would put her work on hold and meet up with her the same day. And when Santana complained, she just ignored her. But that was different. Because Santana always complained. About everything she did.

Had she always been this blind, this oblivious, this foolish? How could she ever not see this?

She remembered how she once took off a day to celebrate Quinn's birthday but refused to do the same for her and Gabrielle's second anniversary, just sending flowers and pralines instead. How could she be so insensitive?

Rachel wanted to punch herself in the face. Instead, she took a calming breath and stepped out of her office.

"Kitty?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember the profiles you once showed me? I want you to call them. Tell them they can come in for an interview today at 3 pm. One minute too late and the job offer is invalid. You got it?"

And Kitty's expression went through a series of emotions, going from confusion, to surprise, to realization to happiness.

"Really?" she didn't dare to believe it yet.

"Really," Rachel nodded.

And Kitty knew that her boss had finally worked it out. And if things went well, she soon would no longer have to daily work overtime anymore.

* * *

When Rachel rang the bell for the third time, she impatiently tapped with her foot and looked around. The apartment complex was old and needed renovation in her opinion, but Quinn thought that the building had its charm lying in the past. She had said more about the history concerning this place, but Rachel had been distracted by a large spider crawling on the wall at that time.

Just when Rachel began wondering what took Quinn so long, the door in front of her swung open, but it wasn't her blonde friend who stood behind the threshold.

"Santana?"

And Rachel was greeted by a slap to her right cheek.

"Ow!" she yelled, bringing a hand to her burning skin that started swelling beneath her fingers. She stared at Santana in shock. "What was that for?"

"That was for lying to me!" Santana growled. "There was no need to lie to me about it, it was me who got you there!"

"What are you talking about?" Rachel groaned, still holding her cheek. "Why would I lie to you?"

"The whole fucking time when we were together, you sprouted some crap about 'not feeling like hooking up'. But then I find out from Quinn that you fucking lied, you are seeing someone! Who is it?"

Santana glared at her, but faltered when Rachel's innocent and confused eyes started to water.

"No one! I told you already that Quinn mistook everything that night, I told you when we met in the bar the next day," she shakily whispered, sniffing with her nose. She remembered what Quinn had accused her of. And if she remembered correctly, then she had told Santana of the misunderstanding.

"That's the same night?" Santana furrowed her eyebrows, recalling a different story she had heard from Quinn about a stranger's perfume and hair on Rachel's clothes. The blonde had described their friend as evasive and defensive that night. Those were all signs of an affair that Rachel might have hidden.

But in Rachel's version, Quinn had wanted to stage an intervention about her work life and then got distracted by unimportant details which led her to storm out of the brunette's apartment without any explanation.

"No!" Santana bit her lip. "Don't make me feel bad when I need to be angry at you now!"

"But why? What did I do?" Rachel choked, looking lost and helpless.

Santana could feel her hard mask crumbling. The woman in front of her resembled a puppy that had been kicked without a reason and was now searching fault in itself.

"Because," Santana cleared her throat, trying to stay strong without giving in to those big, brown eyes that made her want to go soft, "Well, because Quinn is moving out. She's moving to L.A for a new job. And I need someone to be angry at."

And she had altered the truth. Because Rachel seemed like she had no idea about everything, and she didn't want to make her feel worse by revealing that she was the reason that Quinn wanted to move.

"Wh – what?" Rachel stuttered, her eyes going even wider. "But why didn't she tell me? Was she going to leave without telling me?"

It lied on the tip of her tongue to say 'yes', but Santana couldn't do it. Instead, she sighed and finally stepped aside to let Rachel in. "I don't know. I'm only here to help her packing."

"Packing?" Rachel faintly repeated, her eyes already sweeping over the messy hallway floor where open boxes were littered around. Books, personal belongings and clothes were stored in cartons. The furniture was gone.

"She's leaving tomorrow. Her plane takes off about noon," Santana quietly said behind her. Her words met numb ears. Rachel couldn't believe that this was real, it was so sudden. "She's sold and donated all her furniture. The boxes that you see here is all she's taking with her."

"No," Rachel breathed, feeling herself choking up. She didn't have to ask Santana to know that this had been planned for a while, that the packing was in its final stage. "Where is she?"

Santana sighed and nodded to the living room.

Expecting to see her friend's frame packing her impressive book collection, Rachel ran to the living room to find it empty. Completely empty. But the window to the fire escape was open.

"She bailed when she heard your footsteps," Santana said with sympathy, watching Rachel slowly walk toward the open window.

"She can tell my footsteps?" Rachel wistfully asked, looking out of the window. She knew that it was pointless, Quinn could be blocks away by now. But she couldn't help but stare, hoping to catch a glimpse of blonde hair wandering the streets beneath her.

"She can tell almost everything about you," Santana said behind her, a softness to her voice that made the hair on Rachel's neck stand up. So her friend knew.

"When?"

"When what?"

Rachel swallowed. "Everything. When did you know that she was going to move without telling me, when did you know about how she felt and when would you have told me the truth?"

"One week ago," Santana didn't hesitate to reply. She usually had her way of avoiding straight answers, but not this time. Rachel was hurting enough. "She told me one week ago and made me swear not to tell you. And only then did I know how she felt. How she felt for years."

Rachel flinched and turned her back on Santana to stare at the naked wall where pictures of them three used to hang, but didn't tell her to stop talking.

"Quinn is my best friend, but so are you," she heard her say. "I would've told you the second she got on a cab. That would've been enough time to stop her at the airport."

The heavy silence felt like too much to bear for both of them. Gone was the usual playfulness or the bickering, gone was the light tone. Teasing or poking fun at Rachel was the last thing on Santana's mind. Even though that this didn't concern her directly, she still felt responsible. She felt she should have done more to convince Quinn to at least talk to Rachel before moving to L.A. But instead she bit her tongue, offered to help and promised not to tell Rachel one word about it.

They thought it wouldn't be too difficult to avoid Rachel as she was always so busy with her work. She rarely visited Quinn without the latter one insisting on her to come and even then, the blonde had to call her office, sometimes even Kitty, to make sure she wouldn't forget.

This was why neither Quinn nor Santana had expected Rachel to come knocking at Quinn's door around five in the evening on a Friday. The surprise added up to Quinn's panic, and she took the next best way out before Santana could stop her.

"Maybe I shouldn't stop her," Rachel quietly spoke up, turning around to face Santana. "She put so much effort in avoiding me, she obviously doesn't want me to stop her."

But Santana wasn't having any of it. "Of course she does! She put so much effort in this because she's afraid that _she _will be the one to stop herself. But if you do it, then she wouldn't want to set one foot on that plane anymore."

Though Rachel didn't reply to that, Santana knew that she had begun to form plans in her mind now.

"I think I know now," Rachel slowly said, looking from the ground to Santana.

Her friend only tilted her friend, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"I know what's been holding me back that I couldn't see myself with other women," Rachel elaborated. "You asked me if it was Gabrielle. And after the talk I had with her...I knew for sure she wasn't the reason."

And Santana immediately understood. Rachel didn't continue.

"I'm sorry I didn't know sooner. I should have known," Santana lowly said, feeling stupid when she realized how painful it had to be for Quinn to witness Rachel chasing after empty things when she the real deal was right there, in front of her. "Or I wouldn't have done...this." And she pointed to Rachel's classy clothes.

"It's not your fault," Rachel shook her head, sadly smiling. "The physical make-over was very much needed. But the confidence it gave me should have been used on wooing Quinn."

Under any other circumstance, Santana would have gagged and mocked Rachel for her choice of words. But she had said what was true.

"You know it's not too late, right?"

And Rachel's numb body came to life. She all but jumped toward the door, shouting on her way out, "Don't stop packing, Santana!"

"What?"

Santana shot out of the apartment after her, thinking she had misheard.

Already standing at the foot of the stairs, Rachel shouted two levels up, "I said, don't stop packing! There's no way she can move back into an empty apartment now, can she? Besides, she already has a key to mine."

* * *

Any other person, and Rachel would have had no idea where to begin to search for them if they decided to hide somewhere in New York. But she would always know where Quinn Fabray would go.

Finding her sitting in a waiting area of Grand Central Station, Rachel's steps slowed down and she sighed in relief. If Quinn really didn't want to be found, she wouldn't have waited here. She knew that Rachel would always look for her here first because she knew that Rachel always listened to her when she talked about how much she wanted to travel the world and write about everything she would see on her way. And Grand Central Station symbolized this freedom for her. She could just hop on any train and start crossing states, leaving everything behind her. And though it wasn't as international as an airport, it was a start.

"Is this seat taken?" Rachel softly asked once she stood in front of Quinn, who didn't look up.

"You can sit down under one condition," she only said, so quiet that her words almost drowned in the noise that surrounded them.

Rachel could feel her heart being painfully squeezed. "And that would be?"

"Don't try to make me stay," Quinn whispered, not sounding half as sure as she wished to sound. Her eyes were cast on the ground, her eyelids heavy.

And Rachel's throat constricted, making it hard to breathe. There were two possible answers, and she desperately wanted to choose the one where she would plead and beg Quinn to stay. But it wasn't the right answer.

"Okay," she said instead, her voice strangled. She had no other choice if she didn't want Quinn to shut her out. Starting a fight in Grand Central Station didn't seem like a wise decision.

The blonde bit her lip. Okay was all Rachel had to say. But then again, she had told her not to try. She just didn't think she would give up that easily.

"Okay."

Rachel lowered herself on the seat next to Quinn, staring ahead at nothing particular. She had never been this nervous around her, never so insecure. Their interactions usually came easy and unforced, but now, starting a simple conversation seemed like a task no one wanted to begin.

"Why now?"

When Quinn didn't answer, Rachel pressed on, "Why leave now? All these years and you stayed, but now," and her voice cracked, "now you want to go."

Quinn's eyes fluttered shut. "I was only fooling myself. Thinking that being friends is enough for me." Her hands curled into fists. "But it's not, it never was and I don't want to stay around any longer. I think I hurt myself enough."

"And you never thought of telling me?" Rachel managed to croak out, feeling the misery that Quinn had already accepted and never thought of solving.

"Tell you for what?" Quinn tiredly asked, tilting her head to where Rachel was sitting next to her, but not looking at her. "There was always someone else. And even when there wasn't, you never looked my way. All I was good for was giving you a shoulder to cry on when your relationships didn't work out."

And Rachel couldn't deny it. She had used Quinn way too many times without ever realizing it, but now she didn't want her to be that friend anymore. She wanted her to be that woman who turned from best friend to lover.

"I'm sorry," Rachel whispered, her heart aching for the woman next to her. "I'm sorry for not looking your way. It just never occurred to me that there would have been the chance of you looking back."

Quinn let out an empty laugh, it was short and bitter. "It's okay, you don't have to lie to make me feel better. I can take rejection."

"But it's the truth," Rachel weakly said, but Quinn was just shaking her head without listening to her.

"You go after the things you want and you let nothing stop you on your way. If I was one of the things you wanted, I would be already yours."

And without further explanation, Quinn stood up and straightened her clothes. "If you excuse me," she tonelessly said, "there are still some things I need to pack. Please don't try to stop me."

Her words hitting Rachel hard, the brunette could feel desperation and anger welling up inside her chest, pressing against her lungs and making it hard for her to breathe. Quinn had always been emotionally compatible with her, making her feel at ease when she was nervous, offering serenity when she got upset, generally being the needed opposite pole to her. But now, she was anything but soothing to Rachel's soul. As much as she managed to balance her out, she managed to evoke emotions twice as strong.

"No!" she loudly said, having jumped out of her seat as well, now rushing after Quinn. She grabbed her wrist and turned her around. "No, I already agreed not to stop you, but at least hear me out!"

Quinn's eyes narrowed in anger. "This isn't how it works, you don't get to play the victim card, Rachel. Just let me go, let me move on. You owe me that much."

"But -"

"Don't you understand?" Quinn's voice was trembling now, her eyes filling up with tears of hurt and exasperation. "Every second that I spend being with you hurts. And I just want it to stop."

Rachel's grip on her wrist slacked. Shocked and deeply stung with her words, the brunette slowly stumbled backwards. Her own eyes started to water and her voice shook just as much. "Is this how it ends? You leaving before I get the chance to tell you how I feel?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Quinn bitterly said, shaking her head in rejection. "Because I've been here all along, and just when I thought you would be single long enough to see what's right in front of you, you decide you need a change of style to chase after women who will never know you like I do. Rachel, I'm done with that. I'm done with you."

And before Rachel could try to stop her or tell her that she was wrong, that she had in fact seen her all along but never dared to look further, Quinn had turned on her heels and run away, wiping away tears while blindly jogging out of Grand Central Station.

With tears clouding her view, Rachel stood still in the middle of the entrance hall, numbly staring ahead while strangers kept bumping into her or grazing her. Their irritated muttering met deaf ears. Instead there was only one thing she heard, again and again, playing in her mind like a broken record.

_I'm done with you._

Rachel swallowed, a tear rolling over her cheek. "But I wanted to start over with you."

* * *

**Second chapter in progress...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Please enjoy the rest of the story.**

* * *

The cab ride to the airport was tense for both of them. Though Santana had sworn that she wouldn't judge Quinn for what she did with Rachel, the blonde could see that she was struggling to keep her mouth shut. They barely spoke, preferring to stare out of the window instead. Watching as block for block would pass by in a blur.

Quinn's stomach churned, feeling incredibly nervous about leaving the city that she had gotten to know so well. But it had started to feel less and less like a home to her. She couldn't call it home as long as she felt unhappy in it.

"We won't be the same anymore, will we?" she quietly asked, though it didn't sound like a question.

Santana turned her head to face Quinn, who was still looking outside the car window with a lost expression.

"I guess not," she muttered, her eyes dropping to stare at the space between them. What was an arm length now would become thousands of miles in a matter of hours. Of course they wouldn't stay the same anymore, their friendship had an expiration date now.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" Quinn whispered, partly asking, partly wondering herself.

Her friend sighed. "She always does. You know that."

"Yeah, but," Quinn swallowed. "Maybe not this time."

Santana didn't answer, staring out of the window. She was biting the insides of her cheek, refraining herself from telling Quinn that Rachel would always forgive her. Just as she would always love her.

–

When Quinn went to check in and give up her luggage, Santana whipped out her phone and hit a number on speed dial.

"Santana?"

"Rachel!" Santana urgently said, grabbing her hair with her free hand because she was freaking out. "Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm in a cab," came the calm reply. Too calm for Santana's liking.

"Why aren't you at the airport?" Santana hissed, nervously turning to see if Quinn had already checked in, but the blonde was still standing in line.

"Why should I be?"

"Why should – fuck, Rachel, you're supposed to stop her!" Santana nearly shouted into her phone, glaring at people who would give her weird looks. "Get your ass over here right now!"

"She told me not to stop her, so I'm not going to stop her."

Santana couldn't believe the words she was hearing. Had Rachel already accepted everything and just given up? Did she really think that moving to L.A would solve all problems for Quinn? Did she really believe that it would be the best choice for their friend?

"What – why – no, you can't just fucking let her go -"

"Yes, I can," Rachel tiredly said. "She wants me to let her go, so I'm letting her go. And you should do the same."

"But -"

"No, Santana," came the firm voice out of her phone, "we think we know what she deserves, but truth is, it's not the same with what she wants and needs. And if she wants to start fresh in L.A, then let her be. It's her choice."

Santana's shoulders deflated and the anger on her expression faded into melancholy. "Why is it that you can take this better than I do? Because I don't – I can't..." And she looked up to see Quinn standing at the counter, showing her ticket and passport. There wasn't much time left.

"I had the whole night to think about it," Rachel explained, and Santana could finally hear the fatigue in her voice.

"Did you get any sleep?" she asked in sympathy.

"Not really," Rachel answered tiredly, "maybe dozed off a couple of times, but didn't really sleep."

"Me neither," Santana quietly confessed. When she looked up again, Quinn was heading toward her with a suspicious look. She probably could guess whom she was calling, but Santana still quickly muttered into her phone, "Quinn's coming, I'm hanging up. Bye."

"B-" but Rachel's reply was cut short when Santana ended the call.

"She's not coming, is she?" Quinn quietly asked once she stood in front of Santana, and she nodded to the phone in her hand.

Santana slowly shook her head, her eyes focused on her friend's expression to read her emotions. She needed to know if Quinn was disappointed or relieved that Rachel hadn't come running for her.

"Good," she breathed, facing away, but Santana had seen enough.

And it was anything but good.

–

"Take care, will you?"

Santana wasn't one for gentle or heartfelt exchanges, but this time, she could feel herself tearing up over her best friend's departure. "Come see me once in a while, alright?"

"Of course I will," Quinn said with a soft smile.

"No, you need to promise me," Santana said with more force, shaking her head. "I don't want you to avoid New York because of Rachel."

And the genuineness in Quinn's smile faded, leaving it bittersweet and forced. "New York is big. What are the chances of running into her while I'm visiting you?"

Santana kept shaking her head. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Quinn shakily inhaled a deep breath. "I guess you know me too well."

"Damn right I do. You won't find someone like me in L.A."

"No, I won't," Quinn agreed. "And I don't want to find a replacement for you."

"You better hope so or I'm going to personally fly to L.A and whoop your ass."

And for the first time since Quinn had told her about her new job, they shared a genuine laugh.

They were going to be fine. Maybe not as close as before, but never strangers. They were the type of friends to reconnect within a day after not seeing each other for years.

"We may not be the same anymore," Quinn began and Santana finished for her. "But we're going to be fine."

–

Rachel glanced at her watch. By now, Quinn should be already on that plane to Los Angeles.

"Are you alright, Miss?" the cab driver suddenly asked, worriedly looking at her through the rear view mirror. "You're not sick, are you?"

Rachel forced out a laugh and shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, but I just...miss someone."

The driver just nodded in relief, having been afraid of Rachel vomiting in his car. "Someone important?" he easily asked, glancing at the mirror again.

"Very," Rachel nodded, smiling at the thought of Quinn. But it turned sad when she remembered how far the blonde was willing to go to avoid her. "But I messed up."

"Ah, don't say that," her driver good-naturedly chuckled, drumming on his steering wheel with his fingers. "You can't mess up with people who matter to you, you know. Because if they're really important to you, you would naturally try everything to make up with them."

Rachel stared out of the window with a thoughtful expression, squinting when rays of the bright morning sun would blind her. "I guess you're right."

* * *

Her plane had arrived in L.A on time, the flight itself was one of the better experiences that Quinn had made concerning plane rides. It went without major turbulence, annoying passengers or crying children. Maybe it was a sign, a sign that moving to Los Angeles had been the right decision because everything was better at the West Coast. Including the plain rides.

Her new employer had already arranged an apartment for her. It had been one of the conditions in their contract or Quinn wouldn't have signed it without taking more time to consider. The real estate market in L.A was crazy and she didn't have the time or patience to find a place on such short notice. If _E-Motion _was so eager to hire her and get her away from New York, then offering a place to live seemed like a small price to pay.

She gave the cab driver the address of her new home, wondering how it would look like. For a few minutes, she was overcome with worry that it could probably turn out to be a shady place since the magazine she was going to work for didn't belong to one of the bigger players yet. But the further the cab drove into L.A, the less did she think about it, her uneasiness disappearing as she gazed outside with fascination in her eyes.

Palm trees lining up on both sides of the streets, people walking around in short summer clothes with shades on, some of them rollerblading, showing their trained calf muscles with every stroke.

Quinn was aware that what she was seeing was exactly what the media liked to portray of Los Angeles. They were driving through one of the finer parts of L.A and she prayed to God that her cab would stop soon and reveal her new home to be around here. A nice surrounding would sure help her move on faster.

And as if her prayers had been heard, the car pulled over in front of a modern and classy building whose entrance was flanked with tall palm trees. It had large balconies, perfect for relaxing in the sun.

Quinn quickly pushed open the car door and jumped out, looking up in wonder, her mouth turning up into a big smile. Living here was something she could definitely imagine now. She suppressed a happy squeal, jumping on the spot instead and she ran toward a palm tree to touch it. She didn't know why she had the urge to do it, but her excitement had overwhelmed her and when she felt the rough surface of the tree beneath her fingertips, she smiled.

Remembering that she had jumped out of her taxi without paying and taking her luggage, she turned back around with an apology to the cab driver on her lips. But the only word that fell over her trembling lips was a broken, "No."

The cab was gone.

But that was not what hit Quinn so hard.

Looking tired but content, Rachel Berry held her luggage and gave her a lopsided smile. Her entire appearance was ruffled. Her hair was tousled, her make-up faded and it seemed like she was wearing the same clothes she had worn yesterday. Her black tie was hanging loosely around her neck, the collar of her shirt unbuttoned and wide open above her chest, and the hem of her shirt hanging out instead of being neatly tucked into her pants. She wasn't wearing her blazer, and she had rolled up her sleeves up to her elbows.

Quinn bit on her bottom lip. It wasn't fair that Rachel managed to look so desirable even when she resembled a mess. Nothing was fair right now, she had left New York to get away from her and now Rachel was here as well? She wanted to scream or cry in desperation. Didn't Rachel understand that not everything was always about her?

"I told you not to -" she began, but Rachel cut her off, " - stop you. You told me not to stop you. And I didn't, I let you board that plane and fly to L.A." She worked her jaw and longingly looked at Quinn. "But you never told me not to follow you."

And Quinn could feel the bridge of her nose and her cheeks heating up, her throat constricting. She couldn't cry now, she didn't want to show how much she hated Rachel for what she was doing to her. She hated how stubborn the brunette was, hated how she always went after the things she wanted without watching where she was going. If Rachel believed she was right with something, then there was nothing that could destroy her belief. Including the belief that Quinn wanted her here.

But what Quinn hated the most was that she was completely incapable of hating Rachel Berry because of all the same reasons she wanted to hate her for.

"Rachel," Quinn weakly said, her previous excitement about her new apartment was gone. Now she just felt exhausted. "I'm not going back to New York with you."

"And I'm not asking you to," Rachel genuinely said, bending down to put Quinn's suitcase on the ground. When she stood straight again, she nervously wrung with her hands. "The only thing I'm asking for is one minute of your time. Please just give me one minute to explain myself."

Looking torn and reluctant about giving Rachel the chance to break her even more, Quinn crossed her arms defensively and stared at the ground, hoping to hide her wet eyes.

"I'm counting," she hoarsely said.

And Rachel wasted no time, pacing forward until she stood right in front of Quinn, hoping to see her face when she said what she wanted to say all along.

"Gabrielle broke up with me because I'd rather take a day off work to look after you when you're sick than do the same for her birthday," Rachel said, quiet and rushed. And it made Quinn look up with vulnerable eyes. "She broke up with me because when you were around, she felt like the third wheel in her own relationship. None of my past relationships worked because I looked at you the way I was supposed to look at them."

When Quinn wanted to protest, Rachel firmly shook her head and said, "I need every second of this minute. I need you to understand that this is not one-sided, that I've only been blind and stupid, that I've been taking things for granted. But not anymore."

She searched for Quinn's eyes, searched for her understanding, and when hesitating hazel eyes met hers, she smiled. "I appointed a new board of competent directors who will take over most of my work in New York. It will give me enough time for my new job, and that is building up a secondary headquarter of my company here in L.A."

But Quinn started shaking her head, her heart aching the more she heard, the more Rachel said. This was too much and too soon, how could Rachel just assume that Quinn wanted her here? She didn't ask for this, she didn't ask for Rachel to make these changes to her work life.

But then again, how could Rachel know how much she wanted this?

"I'll be working from nine to five now," Rachel said, relieved that Quinn wasn't trying to interrupt her though she kept shaking her head in doubt. "Because I don't want to miss out on you – in case you want to see me, of course. But if you do want to meet me for dinner some time, then I'll be ready and if you just want someone to talk to, you know I'm around and always available."

And she glanced at her watch. "And I've got seven seconds left to tell you one last thing," she lowly said, her look of longing was back. She reached for Quinn's hand, and when the blonde didn't retract, she gently took it and brought it up to her lips. She took a deep breath.

"Quinn, I love you."

And Quinn finally reacted.

She slapped Rachel with her free hand, hitting her so hard that her head snapped to the side.

"That's for everything you put me through!" she angrily yelled, pulling her other hand away from Rachel's grasp.

"Wha-" the brunette gasped in shock, grabbing her cheek but got struck again on the other side.

"And that's for making me want to leave you!" Quinn hissed, reaching out with her hands once more.

And before Rachel could duck away from what she assumed was another hit, both of Quinn's hands had grabbed her face and pulled her in for a kiss.

She was kissing Quinn. She was being kissed by Quinn.

And the pain in her swollen cheeks was forgotten as her knees suddenly felt incredibly weak. She stumbled into Quinn, their bodies pressing against each other, and hands were buried in hair or beneath shirts. Their lips moved against each other easily, fluently, passionately. As if they had done this many times before, as if they had always been lovers. And maybe they had been, but just without the physical aspect.

What Rachel hadn't felt with Gabrielle or with any of her previous partners before, she felt it in one kiss with Quinn. Maybe she had been stupid, maybe she had been afraid of looking further, but now it didn't matter anymore because she had the chance to start over now.

"And this," the blonde panted once they managed to part, whispering against her lips, "is for everything else."

–

Kitty was typing on her computer when the door to her office burst open, revealing a panting Santana, who wildly looked around. "Where's your boss?"

Unimpressed, the blonde secretary raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "How did you get past security?"

And just in that moment, two heavy security men ran into her office, shouting when they saw Santana. The brunette ran behind Kitty, hissing to her, "Tell them I'm Rachel's friend. They wouldn't let me in without an appointment."

"Well, they're right," Kitty said with no interest in Santana's situation, continuing to type on her report. "You should have made an appointment."

"Just fucking tell them who I am," Santana said in panic when the two security guards split and walked around the large desk, one coming from the left, one coming from the right. "Do I have to remind you of who got you that job?"

Deeply sighing, Kitty stopped working and looked up at the security guards, saying with a sweet smile. "It's okay, guys. I'll take it from here now."

"You sure, Miss?" one of them grunted, eying Santana suspiciously. He flexed his muscular arms. Santana swallowed.

"Absolutely," Kitty flashed them a charming smile. "She's harmless. But thank you, George. And you, too, John."

Though they didn't show how pleased they were, they proudly walked out of the office with a puffed out chest and squared shoulders.

"Men," Kitty shook with her head, now turning around in her seat to face Santana. "So what do you want?"

Santana stood up from her cowering position behind Kitty and walked around the desk, heading to the door that led to Rachel's office.

"She was supposed to be there," Santana mumbled, pulling at the door handle, but it was locked. She shook, but the door didn't move. "Berry!" and she pounded on the door. "Open the fuck up!"

Kitty shot up from her seat and said in irritation, "Stop it, that's mahogany!"

"Why the fuck would I care what kind of -"

"She's not here," the blonde said, annoyed at the other woman's behavior. "That's not her primary office anymore."

"What?" And Santana's fist hovered in mid air.

Rolling her eyes, Kitty sat down again and pulled out a nail file from one of the drawers of her desk.

"She didn't tell you, did she?" she pointed with the nail file at Santana before working on her fingers. "I'm not surprised. You would've probably spoiled everything."

Santana simply stared at Kitty. "Tell me what?"

"It's not my place to tell you," the blonde said distractedly, observing the nails of her left hand by stretching her fingers before her. "The only thing I'm telling you is that she asked me to book a hotel for her. For last night."

"Hotel for last night?" Santana repeated with no clue. "Why wouldn't she sleep in her own – oh. Oh! Fuck, is that hotel in L.A?"

Kitty shortly looked up from her nails, giving her a pitying glance. "That took you long enough."

"But – but I called her this morning, and she was sitting in a cab..." and Santana groaned in realization. "She was sitting in a cab in L.A."

The blonde secretary just hummed, placing the nail file back into its drawer and taking out nail polish. She decided blood orange would be the color for today. While carefully painting her nails, she mumbled to herself, "And I slept with that idiot."

Santana was lost in her own world, overwhelmed by the many thoughts in her head. She couldn't believe that Rachel had taken off to L.A even earlier than Quinn. But she had known that something had been off when Rachel had said she wouldn't stop Quinn flying to L.A. And now she knew why, because Rachel had been anticipating Quinn. After all, the blonde never told her not to follow her.

Santana let out a triumphant "Ha!" and leaned against the mahogany door with her shoulder, her body relaxing as she sighed in relief. She smiled proudly.

"That's my dwarf!"

–

Since Quinn's new apartment was completely empty, Rachel had suggested for them to stay in her hotel suite until the apartment was ready to be moved in. There had been no ulterior motives behind that offer, so when they arrived at the five star suite, Rachel was overwhelmed by a seductive looking Quinn who shoved her onto the king-sized bed. She didn't complain though, they were both adults and had no time to take things slow. Every minute and hour counted, and they had already wasted years.

No words were said, they only communicated physically because some things couldn't be expressed through words. Everything they ever wanted to share with each other, they did it now, with no hurry or thoughts about what would happen next. Their touches were careful, but firm. Experimental, but knowing. Though they had wasted no time in taking their relationship straight to the physical level, they took the time to become familiar with each others' body.

The large Rolex clock above them kept ticking away, the hour digit turning several times until they finally remained lying on their backs, completely drained, but satisfied and happy. Only the sound of their panting filled the suite, and Rachel's arm shook when she reached for a drink on the night stand. Her muscles were sore.

Quinn turned on her side to face Rachel, contently smiling as she trailed circles on Rachel's stomach with her index finger. "You sure have a lot of energy for someone who hasn't slept since yesterday."

Rachel smirked into her glass as she drank water in big gulps. Her dry throat had been protesting for two hours now, but every time she had tried to reach for that glass, Quinn would roll her over for a new round, effectively distracting her.

"It's you," Rachel simply said with a smile, her voice slightly hoarse, "I like how you keep me on my toes."

Quinn hummed with a smirk and her finger that used to draw circles on Rachel's stomach slowly trailed down south until she was stroking the insides of her thighs. Rachel closed her eyes in pleasure.

"Then you will certainly like what I'm going to do next," Quinn teasingly whispered into her ear, and she dove under the bed cover. And when Rachel felt soft hands gently pushing her thighs apart, she could only moan in agreement.

–

It wasn't until the early morning of the following day when they were too tired to lift a limb and fell asleep right after Rachel had rolled off Quinn's body and hugged her close to cuddle. They missed breakfast, lunch and a flustered room service who had walked into their suite without thinking too much since there had been no sign on the door handle that said to not disturb. She had assumed nobody had been there and she just wanted to do her job which included cleaning the rooms.

They woke up to growling stomachs. Rachel ordered dinner to their suite while Quinn showered. But since ordering dinner took much less time than showering, the brunette decided to join her new girlfriend in the shower, thus flustering the room service a second time as she cautiously entered the suite only to be confronted with loud sounds of heated sex.

Neither Rachel nor Quinn thought much about the poor room service once they saw their dinner ready, presented on a cart that carried wine and dessert as well. They ate up within minutes and ordered more, and this time, a different room service wheeled a cart loaded with food in. Her work colleague had begged her to take this one order for her, though she couldn't understand why. The brunette had tipped her with fifty dollars that she had randomly found in the back pocket of her pants.

So when their stomachs were full, both quietly sat outside on the balcony and enjoyed the view over Los Angeles while sipping on wine.

"I don't want this day to end," Quinn contently sighed. "It's perfect as it is now."

"But what if tomorrow will be even better than today?" Rachel quietly wondered, fondly looking at Quinn. She was so beautiful, she was glowing with happiness. Happiness that she had been denied for so long. And now all Rachel wanted to do was to make sure that she would never have a reason to be unhappy again.

"Then I'd gladly let you prove me wrong."

And Rachel did prove her wrong, every day. Because every day turned out to be perfect in its own way, even if it seemed like it was anything but. Even when Quinn was accidentally spilled with coffee, splashed with dirty water by a car driving through a puddle and stuck in an elevator for an hour in one day, Rachel still managed to make that day seem perfect because she would threaten to sue that guy who spilled coffee on Quinn, lay out warm and dry clothes for her to change into and be on the other side of the elevator to talk her through the waiting.

And Quinn did the same for Rachel. There were no bad days if she got to fall asleep with Quinn by her side, comfortingly cuddling her. Because when she was wrapped up in warm blankets and the soft body of her girlfriend, she forgot about the mistakes of some incompetent employees and irresponsible artists.

Her company was growing bigger with the second headquarter in L.A opening more doors, and though she should be technically busier than before, she worked a normal nine to five schedule. She had appointed several leaders within her company to her board, and they were splitting her work between each other. The only thing she had to do know was to either agree or disagree with the decisions of her board, supervise their work and occasionally represent her company on important events. Of course with Quinn as her plus one by her side.

L.A was good to them, it gave the couple the chance to explore the city together and discover themselves in a new light. Quinn's job was actually her dream job, she hadn't been lying when she had wanted to accept it. After a year of writing witty columns about everything that moved her, which was eagerly soaked up by her audience, she was promoted to be the editor of _E-Motion._

This news was celebrated in New York with Santana, and on the next day, when Rachel and Quinn woke up hungover and confused with a Santana sleeping sandwiched between them, they knew it was just going to be a matter of time until she would follow them to L.A.

So Santana decided to switch coasts as well. Though she had her fair share of friends in New York, none of them were as close to her as Rachel and Quinn were, and frankly, she felt lonely without them. Even if it meant enduring their antics as lovers.

Finding a job was not one of her worries. During her first years in L.A, she worked as the head of the legal department in Rachel's company and through her work there at the music label, she met a singing and dancing girl group, including one Brittany Pierce who soon would turn out to be the only woman Santana ever actively chased and wooed. And the blonde agreed to a date which led to another and another. It wasn't long until they were girlfriends, then engaged. And when the wedding had a date set, Rachel and Quinn knew that it would be Santana's last and only wedding.

* * *

When Rachel nervously ran past her for the third time, Quinn grabbed her wrist and pulled her in for a kiss to distract her stressed wife. And it worked long enough for Rachel to relax into the kiss until she remembered what had her so busily pacing around in her villa.

"Quinn," she mumbled against soft lips, reluctantly pulling back. "I don't know what to wear for Santana's and Brittany's wedding."

Quinn hummed and leaned her forehead against Rachel's. "We'll find something", she reassuringly said, looping her arms around Rachel's waist to pull her in for another soft kiss.

The topic was off the table for the day, but resurfaced the next morning when Rachel stood half-naked in her walk-in closet, staring at all the clothes she possessed. There weren't many dresses appropriate for a wedding, and she was Santana's matron of honor.

"Rachel?"

Quinn rubbed her tired eyes as she yawningly walked to Rachel, following her line of sight. She was staring at some of Quinn's dresses.

"They don't fit you," the blonde said, shaking her head. "And I already know what you should wear."

"You do?" Rachel said in surprise, turning to her wife. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well," Quinn's eyes trailed down her lover's body, noticing her lack of clothes. She licked her lips. "You probably should put on some clothes first, I can't concentrate with you walking around like that."

Chuckling in amusement, Rachel left the closet and walked back into their bedroom. She had expected Quinn to follow her, but when a minute passed and her wife didn't reappear, she questioningly called out, "Quinn?"

And the blonde strutted back into the bedroom with a smile, one hand holding up clothes hanger on which hung a black suit, the other holding up a black tie.

Rachel stared at the items in her hands, then at her face. "Is that the one Santana made me buy all those years ago?"

Her wife just nodded, still smiling. "I know you have a lot of black blazers, but...they're not suits. And I missed seeing you in one."

Swallowing, Rachel glanced at the suit that would always be connected to the memory of almost losing Quinn. "Are you sure?"

And Quinn sighed, knowing what Rachel was hinting at. She carefully hung the suit over the rest of a chair, then placed the tie on top of it. Turning to the worriedly looking brunette, she softly said, "Yes, completely sure. I know what you're thinking, but I don't blame the suit or you for what happened. I blame myself for wanting to leave the only thing that's made me happy."

They looked down, holding each others' hands. Rachel was still frowning.

"Hey," Quinn whispered, "look at me."

Hesitantly looking up, Rachel's eyes searched for any sign of discomfort on her wife's face. She didn't want her to take blame for things that happened ages ago, and she didn't want to dwell on this topic either.

"I just don't want to remind you of that woman you thought I was when I put it on again," Rachel admitted. "Because I'm not that woman, I can't lie and I don't want to. And I don't want to impress anyone but you."

And Quinn's heart skipped a beat at the confession, her insides turning considerably warm. The corners of her lips curled into a touched smile, and she looked at Rachel with loving eyes.

"I know," she quietly said. "And I remember how much I liked you in that suit that I just wanted to get you out of it. And though it pains me to say this, without all that happened, we may still be in denial. You can look back and either remember the good or the bad, and I choose to focus on the good. So why don't you?"

And a bright smile lit up Rachel's expression as she laughed in relief. Feeling light and happy, she put a hand on the back of Quinn's head and pulled her in for a long kiss, letting her wife push her toward the direction of their bed.

"Besides," Quinn panted against Rachel's lips, "nothing is sexier than seeing a woman wearing a suit and tie."

* * *

**Aaaand, cut. Thank you for following, favoriting and reviewing this story, it was a lot of fun writing it and a big pleasure to share it with you :)**

**One last Author's Note for those who care:**

After reading all the reviews for the first chapter, I realized that some of you have taken sides and expressed sympathy for Rachel while less understanding for Quinn. When I wrote this, I didn't think about who would be rightfully hurt or unreasonably foolish. I just wrote what felt authentic, and making Quinn confess her love didn't feel right because she's always been more of a secretive character that worked in her own mysterious ways. Her unpredictable actions are what dominated in the show, and I included this in my story.

Because this one is based on the Faberry subtext that is season 3, where we think it's one-sided (Quinn asking Rachel if she only sang for Finn with this heartbreaking look) and then we find out it's not (Rachel putting her wedding on hold because Quinn wasn't there). That was just an example, but I hope you get what I mean. It's not about who deserves to be apologized to, but it's about making compromises because you genuinely love them and wouldn't want to let them go because of your pride.

Thank you for reading and let me know what you think.


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